AntiOrdinary
by JennyMoriarty
Summary: The three times Jim and Molly went out and the one time they didn't. "The big problem with a disguise is that, however hard you try, it's always a self-portrait." -Irene Adler.
1. Chapter 1

_****Because I'm obsessed with the idea that "Jim from the Hospital" was less of a self-portrait and more of an escape for a certain favourite villain of mine._

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><p><em><strong>Anti-Ordinary<strong>_

It was a dreary and boring Tuesday when Diener Molly Anne Hooper sifted through her post, the body of a former drug lord acting as her only company in the mortuary of Saint Bart's Hospital in London city. She already knew what to be expecting; she was sent more or less the same post every week. A letter from her mother (to whom she'd never given her actual address) which she wouldn't read, her bill from the hospital cafeteria and a note from her boss asking her if the consulting detective she was always working with was finished with the fingers he'd taken yet. Today, however, she noticed something different as her own fingers found their way around a little brown paper package. Which was tied up with string, funnily enough. She became a little excited for a moment, before she realised that the package wasn't even addressed to her. She should've known, really. No-one ever sent her anything nice.  
>"James Moriarty," she muttered, turning the package around in her hands. "IT..." She paused. "How does someone confuse 'IT Department' and 'Morgue'?" She giggled, swivelling on her heel in order to face the cadaver, into which Sherlock Holmes had injected some sort of jam-like chemical. "The things I do for him," She muttered dejectedly, before rolling her eyes. "Must be a new postman." She concluded, still talking to the cadaver. It wasn't her fault, it was lonely down in the morgue and this was technically once a living person-even if they weren't necessarily a good one. "I best go find this James guy, then." She made her way to the door. "But where on earth is 'IT'?"<p>

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><p>Molly rapped lightly on James Moriarty's office door. It hadn't taken her long to find-apparently he'd taken over the office Albert Carlton who, just yesterday, had left a note stating that he'd won the lottery and he wouldn't be returning. Lucky him. "He must be important," She decided, eyeing the obviously new, shiny name tag on the door. Usually, people didn't get name tags for their doors unless they asked and asked repetitively for three years. Or maybe that was just her. It's funny, she thought, the more time one spends with Sherlock Holmes, the more trivial things one notices and the less trivial they seem to become.<br>"Hello?" The door swung open and, suddenly, Molly was faced with a brown-haired, doe-eyed man in a sharp suit, whose gaze fluttered over her momentarily. "H-hello," He stuttered, then rolled his eyes, an embarrassed smile making its way across his face. "I, uh, I already said that." He laughed, awkwardly. He had an accent, she noted, though she couldn't place it. It definitely wasn't British. Maybe Irish? Scottish, perhaps? Sherlock would know.  
>"Yeah," Molly said shyly, not meeting his gaze, as he had begun studying her intently. She felt her face flush and, all of a sudden, wished she'd put on makeup that morning. Not because she wanted to impress anyone—Sherlock wasn't coming in today—but because a bit of makeup would've nicely hidden the blush that had crept across her cheeks.<br>"Um, h-how may I help you?" He asked after a moment  
>"Oh!" Molly shook her head lightly. No use getting in flustered over someone who probably wouldn't even acknowledge her existence. God knows, she'd had enough experience with that. "This was mixed up in my post." She smiled, handing him the package. "It's for you."<br>"Oh, gee, thanks!" James took the package. "I'm James, by the way." He blinked rapidly. "Which you already know..." There was a pause. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually like this..."  
>Molly laughed and held out her hand. "I'm Molly Hooper; I work down in the mortuary." She stopped, realising how forward she must've sounded. And, against her better instincts she thought that perhaps making a joke might let her away with it. What had Sherlock said about her making jokes? Don't do it? Damn. Too late. "You know; where rainbows end." Thankfully, she couldn't but help smile as a feeling of elation passed through her when he laughed, however lightly, at her joke.<br>Sherlock wouldn't have laughed.  
>"Molly," He breathed her name, taking her hand delicately and she felt her cheeks heat up again. "It's a <em>pleasure<em> to meet you." They looked at each other for a moment and then James moved a little closer. "Can I tell you a secret?" He whispered.  
>"Sure," Molly nodded, smiling. Usually people told her secrets because they didn't realise she was there in the first place. This was unusual; someone actually <em>wanting<em> to share classified information with her.  
>"This isn't my office." He laughed. "I'm not actually a manager, just a technician. I work on the floor. I was trying to impress this girl..."<br>Molly felt a surge of disappointment wash over her, though she was unsure why. Shouldn't she be used to this?  
>"But," James smiled. "I don't think I want to impress her any more. She's not all that interesting anyway."<br>Molly's brow furrowed as James slipped the name tag from the door. "I asked my friends in IT to help me, I thought maybe it was her at the door when you knocked."  
>He put the name tag in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and smiled at her again, his eyes focusing on hers and making it hard for Molly to concentrate on anything else but how pretty they were.<br>"I'm glad it wasn't." He told her, and she felt her heart flutter. He bit his lip and his embarrassed smile made its way across his face again.  
>"Doyouwantogetcoffee?" Molly shook her head and then laughed at herself. "I mean, do you-would you like to come for a cup of coffee?" This time, she smiled at her forwardness. The last person she'd asked that to had been confused by her wording, so she added; "With me?"<br>James smiled and Molly knew that, this time, the message had been received the way she meant it.

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><p>"Do you like the suit?" James asked, as they walked back from the little coffee shop on Newgate Street. "It's Westwood." Molly nodded intently; mid-sip from her Styrofoam cup of coffee. "I borrowed it from a friend; I thought it would make me look more impressive." He looked to her then, a certain smile making its way across his face as though he was enchanted by her, or something. It was the kind of look she secretly wished Sherlock would give her, though she knew he never would. She'd never seen anyone look at her like that and she couldn't help but feel a bit excited by James' almost fairytale reaction to her.<br>"Looks like it worked." He looked to his feet. "Remind me to thank him."  
>"What's his name?" Molly asked, blowing on her coffee.<br>"Uh, Sebastian." James laughed a little, holding up his hands. "I know, I know. But he's not a little red crab or a Glee character. I swear."  
>"Right, I'm sure." Molly cocked an eyebrow at him. "So what does he do then, if not sing?"<br>"He's a trained assassin." James deadpanned and Molly laughed.  
>"And what about you, James Moriarty?" Molly smiled as she said his name. "That's not an English surname and that's <em>definitely<em> not an English accent you've got there." He had a sort of twang to his accent, that could've been mistaken for an English one if Molly wasn't as observant as she prided herself in being. That's what you get when you spend too much time around a one, Sherlock Holmes.  
>"Oh, you got me." He said, taking a sip of his own hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows. "I'm Irish. Born and raised in Dublin until I was old enough to get out." He looked to the sky and Molly thought she saw a sadness in his eyes. But, as soon as it was there, it was gone again.<br>"My Dad, he... He wasn't a very nice man." James shook his head. "Especially not to my Mother. After she... After she died there wasn't really any reason for me to stay. So I guess I just... _didn't_. I tried to get my little sister to come with me, but she's a bit like my Dad." He gave Molly a lopsided smile. "She doesn't take prisoners."  
>Molly gave him what she hoped was a comforting expression but might have come across as more of an awkward grimace, she wasn't sure.<br>"I miss Ireland sometimes, and then I come to my senses." He took another drink of his hot chocolate and Molly could visibly see the moment wash over him. Clearly, sharing about his past wasn't something he was used to doing. Her suspicions were only confirmed when he just as quickly changed the subject. "What about you, then, Molly Hooper? Are you secretly an undercover FBI Agent sent overseas to locate Wally? I'll give you a hint; he lives in the apartment below me."  
>Molly giggled. "I wish." She shook her head. "No, I live in a two bed roomed flat with my Grandmother on Cobourg Street, she's old and needs lots of taking care of but, after my Dad died, my Mom went sort of mad and turned to alcohol for grief counselling instead of a psychiatrist like we kept telling her to." Molly bit her lip. "It's not Mom's fault, really. But I just can't see her anymore. I haven't seen her since she ran away with my boyfriend, in university. My brother comes to visit sometimes, but himself and Granny don't get along so he avoids it if at all possible. I've got two lovely nieces, though, and I get to see them every second weekend so it's not all bad..."<br>There was a moment of silence before both Molly and James went to say something at the same time. "Oh, I'm sorry," Molly shook her head and James laughed. "What were you going to say?"  
>"No, no, you first." James practically begged. "I insist."<br>"I was just going to say that I'm sorry for boring you with my life story. People don't usually ask me, so it tends to all spill out into a puddle of mess when someone does. I'm sorry."  
>"There's no need to apologise, I know what it's like. Not being able to tell people your stories, the things that make you, <em>you<em>." He waved his hand in front of him as though trying to erase something he'd said that he really shouldn't have. "But, I'd like to hear more about you Molly." He smiled, his eyes mesmerizing her again. "Do you think, maybe, I could give you my number? You know, in case you wanted to chat or..." Molly couldn't help but smile. "And then, maybe I could get yours too? Just in case it's lunch time and I don't want to have hot chocolate in the hospital cafeteria with that scary dinner lady that keeps asking me to marry her..."  
>Molly grinned, not able to stop herself. This lovely, genuine guy actually wanted her number, and not because he wanted to able to contact her when he needed access to the morgue at three in the morning. How lucky was she?<p>

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><p><em>Alas, this was meant to be a one-shot but it became a little too long, so I'll upload it in a few parts. Do feel free to drop us a review, you know how us writers are! xD<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank-you, muchly to anyone who reviewed, favourited or alerted this. I'm rather a bit attached to this pairing myself, and I'm glad I'm seemingly not alone!_

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><p><strong>2.<br>**  
>Jim Moriarty was pleased, not only with himself, but with Molly. She'd done exactly what he'd scripted in his head, and she hadn't even rehearsed! She was fantastic!<br>Although, he did feel almost bad for her, really, because she was just so _nice_. Really, who was nice these days? Well, apart from him, that is. Coffee had been nice too, come to think of it. It had been such a long time since he'd gone for a cup of coffee, or hot chocolate as it were, without wanting to blow the brains out of the person he was with after the first three minutes. It was a pity that Molly was one of the Angels; otherwise he might have actually kept her around. It wasn't that she was overly interesting, dear God no. Who wants to sit around all day and talk about dead people?-half of which Jim had put in the morgue in the first place-but there was just something about Miss Hooper that was... _Anti-ordinary_, he supposed. Maybe it was just because she was the first person he'd met in years who was nice to him simply because she liked him, and not for money or power or because he was holding a gun to their temple. Or, well, _he_ was never holding the gun; but it was always implied.  
>"I feel almost bad," He said to The Doctor; his only real friend in the world. Friends were always better fluffy and without the capacity to talk, he maintained. "She's just so nice and she's probably going to end up either heartbroken or dead." He smiled, then. "But, I suppose, that's what you get when you have a heart." He laughed, a little manically, before stopping quite abruptly. "That's really no fun without background music, is it?" He stroked the cat and pulled out his phone. "Back to work, I guess." He sighed, but there was a happiness to it. "Hi, Molly," He said, sweetly. "It's me, Jim. I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner with me later? Around four? And maybe to the theatre tonight?" He looked to The Doctor. "How do you feel about Chinese food and '<em>Saturday Night Fever'<em>?"

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><p>"I haven't had Chinese food in years!" Molly exclaimed, stepping into the little restaurant in Chinatown, as Jim held the door for her, a grin on his face. "Granny doesn't like it much, so we usually just get chips. She loves the chipper. Peggy, my niece, is staying with her until I get home tonight. She's sixteen, doing really well in school. Got all honours in her GCSEs. She's making us so proud, especially Gran. Gran never really liked my obsession with death-no." Molly shook her head. "<em>Curiosity<em> with death... Oh, God. That sounds worse. I really just shouldn't try to make conversation." She said, dropping her eyes to the floor. "It's not my strong point."  
>"Don't be silly, Molly." Jim laughed. "I think you're wonderful." He gave her a cheeky smirk, his eyes twinkling. "To be honest, I've a bit of a...<em>fascination<em> with death myself."  
>Molly smiled, and then turned to face the restaurant. It was quaint, not a very romantic looking place but then, it was only four in the afternoon.<br>"I know doesn't look like much," James said, his embarrassed smile returning once more. Molly kind of liked that smile, truth be told. It made her feel less alone in the town of Embarrassment. In fact, the more time she spent with Jim, the less alone she felt entirely. "But it's lovely." James nodded to a Chinese woman who gave him a huge smile.  
>"Ah," She said, not even attempting to hide her accent. "Master James." She gave him a toothy grin, her eyes sparkling. "Your usual seat, I assume? And your meal by two today, I see." She turned to face Molly. "You are lucky lady." She gave Molly a nod of what Molly hoped was approval. "Master James does not usually bring people here, he keeps it his own little secret."<br>"That's quite enough, Kiko San." Jim laughed, rolling his eyes. The woman, Kiko, bowed though she was grinning immensely, clearly pleased with having embarrassed a regular customer of hers. Molly felt her heart speed up a little at the thought of being special enough to be the only woman James had ever brought with him to, what seemed to be, his favourite restaurant. The woman kindly showed them to a little table by the window, and Jim held out the seat with its back to the window for Molly. Sitting across from her, he smiled. "I hope you don't mind, but I called ahead and asked the chef to make something a bit special... If you don't like it, though, please tell me. I'll gladly get you something else."  
>Molly was astounded. Never had she ever been taken this much care of before; especially not on a first date. A blush crept over her face when she realised that this was, in fact, her first proper date with Jim. Her mind wandered to Sherlock briefly before it suddenly occurred to her that she was glad that it was Jim she was with and not Sherlock. This information both shocked and delighted her, though she tried to push it out of her head not wanting to ruin a lovely date by blurting out the wrong name by accident. "No," She said, biting her lip. "That's perfect."<p>

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><p>Jim watched through the window, and out of his peripheral vision, as Doctor John Watson yelled through the letter box in Soo Lin Yao's flat. He had seen John and Sherlock not a few moments before as they had come rushing out of the Chinese diner that was situated probably no more than two doors down from the restaurant himself and Molly were currently seated in. He had seen Sherlock and John go around the back no less than a minute ago however, only John and made his way back around to the front and Jim knew <em>exactly<em> what this meant. Sherlock had followed his clues like breadcrumbs to a gingerbread house and was, more than likely, attempting to get inside the flat from the back right at this very moment. Silly boy. He would be getting himself killed if Jim wasn't constantly keeping an eye out for him. Jim knew that there was a member of the Black Lotus already inside, a member who wouldn't hesitate to kill the other trespasser to the flat.  
>"Will you excuse me for a moment, please, Molly?" He asked standing up, his purple Converse scuffing against the floor in the process.<br>"Of course." Molly gave him a smile and a nod, replacing her napkin down onto her knees as a waiter took their finished plates from the table. Jim had ordered his usual, which had turned out, not only to be her favourite, but his too. Such a wonderful coincidence.  
>"I must just give Sebastian a quick buzz; I can't go to the theatre looking like this!" He laughed looking embarrassedly down on his purple hoodie and denims with a rather shameful grimace. "Especially not when I'm bringing someone like you." He took a step away. "Excuse me, Kiko San," He turned to the woman that had shown them in. "Can we get that chocolate dessert that you do? The one with the fizzy, crumbly things that explode when you eat them?" She nodded. "Xiéxié." He bowed. And she muttered something back to him with a smile.<br>Jim moved suavely to a dark corner of the restaurant, making sure he was both out of sight and out of earshot of Molly before he hit Sebastian Moran's speed-dial on his phone.  
>"Sherlock's gone into the bloody flat." He whined. Why was Sherlock always so <em>stupid<em>? "I told you he would." A pause. "Well, tell her that he can maim him all he likes but he'd better not kill him or the Black Lotus won't be seeing that nine million pound hair-band ever again... Hair-pin. Whatever." Another pause. "I don't _care_ if Sherlock kills him, _he's_ not my problem... Yes, I know. I _know_. Just get it done, okay? Oh! And get the Armani dry-cleaned; I'm taking Molly to the theatre... Of course to see '_Saturday Night Fever_'." He looked to the ceiling. "No, I don't have a crush... Shut up... I said _shut up_. Don't forget to feed The Doctor." He rolled his eyes. "She's nice to me... Oh, piss off, Moran... Did you tell her? Yes, yes," He waved his hand, bored of this now. "Asphyxiation's fine as long as it isn't fatal... Yes, _definitely_ the Armani... The pink shirt... Yes, I'm sure... He's gay, for God's sake!" Another eye-roll. "He's in love with that stupid Consulting Detective and using Molly to—just feed the damn cat." He said, snapping his phone shut. He strode back to the table, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie on the way over.  
>"Ah! Dessert's here!" Jim exclaimed, giddily, sitting back down across from Molly, a feeling of relief washing over him as he watched Sherlock leave the flat opposite. He was a little pale looking, perhaps, but nothing worse for the wear. "I hope you like chocolate sauce!" He grinned.<p>

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><p>It was getting dark when James met Molly at the entrance to the giant theatre in the West End of London.<br>"You look beautiful, Molly." He remarked upon seeing her and, for once, he wasn't lying. She did look beautiful. Her hair was falling in loose curls around her face and her pink lipstick perfectly complimented her pink a-line dress. It was funny, he thought. They matched well, even if it was accidental, and he couldn't help but feel a certain pride as other couples and passers-by glanced enviously at them. They really did look the part, to be fair, and Jim very much appreciated that. Molly really was an odd sort of perfect, wasn't she?  
>For his plan, of course. In general she had lots of flaws, didn't she? Like, for example, the fact that she hadn't yet killed that silly consulting detective of hers, or that she was even friends with the idiot in the first place. Or that fact that she was a little too pretty or a little too nice or a little too interesting. No, she had too many flaws to be connected to him and his one-and-only, solitary flaw.<br>He was _so_ changeable.

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><p>He paid for her cab, of course, though he didn't ride with her in it. Taking her home, he decided, would be a bad idea. He couldn't afford to lose his game for a night or two of romance. No, this was about himself and Sherlock, not himself and Molly. It always had been. Molly was just an extra in his play; not a character of any significance. If he was writing a tragedy; she wasn't to be a part of it.<p>

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><p><em>And there you have it. Chapter two. Chapter three will be up soon, too. I promise. It's already written but my internet connection is being<em> **such **_numpty lately. Thanks for reading! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A very special thank-you to everyone who has taken the time to review, it means a lot to us writers! And a little shout-out to Victoria and I'm-Over-There, for their rather extensive reviews and commentary! Thanks also to everyone who is reading this, it wonders me that there aren't more Jim/Molly shippers in the fandom (because they have so much potential!) and I think it's wonderful that we're all sticking together! Thanks again! ~Jenny._

**3**.

Molly hummed as she worked her way around the morgue, earning an odd look from Sherlock who claimed he had been "just passing through". What he had stolen, she didn't know, nor did she want to. Nor did she care, she realised with a smile.  
>"What's got you so happy?" He practically demanded, in the way that only Sherlock could.<br>"No-one." Molly said quickly before laughing, awkwardly. "Nothing, I mean. Nothing."  
>Sherlock eyed her intently. He was deducting, no doubt. Well, Molly decided, he could deduct all he wanted; she didn't mind. If he came to the conclusion that Molly had a love interest than wasn't him, maybe he'd start paying attention to her for once. Although, Molly knew that that notion was too farfetched, even for her imagination. Still, it would be nice to <em>pretend<em> he was jealous and not just condescending.  
>"What's his name?" Sherlock tried to sound uninterested, but even Molly could see through it. He was curious. Sherlock Holmes was curious about something in Molly's life for a change. What an interesting turn of events.<br>"There's no 'his'." Molly lied. "Honestly." She shrugged, dropping her eyes to the floor. "I'm just in a good mood." She hoped then that she'd said it nonchalantly enough for him to still be curious, even if he decided to drop the subject. Having Sherlock interested in her was giving her a boost of confidence she never even knew she wanted.  
>She returned to her humming, almost floating around the morgue, looking cheerier and happier than Sherlock had ever seen her and, he realised with a start, her happiness made her face lighter and brighter which actually made her completely and utterly...what's that adjective? <em>Beautiful<em>? Yes.  
>Sherlock thought she looked beautiful. It was disgusting, he decided, furrowing his brow intently.<br>"Excuse me," A voice came from the door, and both Molly and Sherlock's eyes widened as they saw a young girl standing in the doorway with a giant bunch of flowers. A medical student, Molly noticed, taking in the colour of her scrubs. "Delivery for a Miss Molly Hooper?"  
>Sherlock's brow furrowed even deeper than usual and Molly hoped, for a second, that it was out of jealousy. She knew it wouldn't be, of course, but a girl can dream.<br>"That's me," She said, walking over to claim the flowers.  
>"Jim sent me," The girl told Molly, her voice wavering slightly. "He says that he hopes you had a good time last night and that the Bee-Gees hope that you're <em>staying alive<em> down here in this boring old place." The girl handed Molly the giant bunch of roses. "And he hopes you'll be joining him at lunch time for tea and scones in Cafe Noir on Newgate Street."  
>Molly nodded happily, sniffing the roses. "Tell him I will." She said, smiling and the girl nodded, turning and leaving the room.<br>"Something was wrong with her." Sherlock stated and Molly's turn for her brow to furrow.  
>"What?"<br>"The girl," Sherlock said, statically, keeping his eyes fixed on the roses. "Creased brow, sweaty hands, rapid blinking. Her _voice_." He looked to the door and then to Molly. "She was holding in tears."  
>"Maybe she's allergic to roses." Molly deadpanned.<br>"No." Sherlock decided and ran out to the hallway. "Gone." He stated. "She's gone."  
>"Back to work, I assume." Molly put the flowers into a conical flask.<br>"I wouldn't suspect so." Sherlock turned back to Molly. "Be careful of those," He nodded to the flowers. "I have to go."  
>Molly rolled her eyes. She was irritated with him, at this point, but she kept her expression light.<br>"Just be happy for me, Sherlock." She stated, quietly but with as much force as she could muster without sounding pissed off. Which, of course, she was. Trust him to ruin a perfectly nice moment.  
>"I am." Sherlock left and the door swung shut behind him.<br>Molly turned to the flowers, smiling.  
>"Just," Sherlock's head popped back around the door. "Be careful of the flowers. Something isn't right but I don't have time to fix it right now."<br>Molly's forehead creased, her smile fading. So now something wasn't right because someone had actually paid attention to her and done something nice for her for once? Right.  
>"I don't want someone messing with you to get to me."<br>"It isn't always about you, Sherlock." She said, not meeting Sherlock's glare. "And besides, no-one knows I know you, remember? No-one even knows I exist." She turned away. "I'm just 'the help'."

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><p>"Is everything alright?" Jim asked at lunch, later that day. "You seem sad," He looked at her intently, his concern obvious. "Was it the white roses? My Mom always did say that girls prefer red ones..."<br>"No, no." Molly shook her head. "The roses were absolutely beautiful. They made my day, actually. No one ever sends me anything. Well, not _nice_ anythings, anyway." She gave him a little smile, but his concern didn't lift until she sighed, giving in. "It's this friend of mine. In fact, he's not even really my friend, he just pretends to be. He always over-analyses everything and he thinks you're dangerous because no-one could ever possibly be interested in me unless it was to get to him." She dropped her gaze. She'd never said that aloud before, let alone to someone she'd only just met. "Sometimes I just want to—"  
>"Kill him?" Jim offered.<br>"Well, I was going to say punch him in the face..." She smiled, properly this time. "I don't really wish death on anyone, my job being what it is, and everything." She paused. "He's fine, really. Just irritating at the best of times. And thank you for the flowers, I always preferred white roses."  
>Jim gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll tell you what will make you feel better," He grinned. "Bowling and pizza—I know, I know, it doesn't sound very sophisticated, but it's the second best stress reliever on the planet."<br>Molly gave him a quizzical look. "What's the first?" She asked, curiously.  
>"Blowing shit up." He answered.<br>And they both laughed.

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><p>"Meow." The Doctor curled himself around Jim's legs that evening as Jim tried to pick an outfit for his date tonight. He'd never like to admit it but, Irene Adler was right. The big problem with a disguise is that, however hard you try, it's always a self-portrait. Right now, though, Jim just looked ridiculous. "It's a bit too formal, isn't it?" He asked no-one in particular as he studied himself in the full-length mirror. "I mean, I'm only taking her <em>bowling<em>." The Doctor meowed again. "Hey," Jim looked down at him, his eyebrow cocked. "Bowties _are_ cool." He huffed, and then sighed in acceptance of the awful outfit. "Playing this character is a lot harder than I thought it would be." He said nonchalantly as he removed the rouge bowtie and then his cerulean blue shirt, choosing instead an almost iridescent cerise pink Adidas t-shirt. "I think he's beginning to fall, just a little bit, for Molly, even though he only ever wanted to know her in order to get to Mister Holmes. And yet, he's still in love with the _idea_ of Sherlock." He looked to the cat, his eyebrows shooting into his hair. "How complicated is _his_ life?"  
>The Doctor meowed condescendingly.<br>"She's nice to him!" Jim exclaimed, pulling on a pair of dark blue skinny-jeans. In fairness, plaid pants weren't a good look for anyone and plaid Chinos? Forget it. "No-one's ever just plain old nice to him unless they want him to—to fix their computer, or something." He mumbled, searching his wardrobe for a jacket of some sort. "Which is a pity," He decided on a leather, boy band-like number. "Because he's lonely." He slipped on a pair of overly designed Vans and sprayed himself with some sort of celebrity aftershave. "He's always been lonely." He sniffed the air. "Ugh, that's awful." He once again turned to face the mirror and rolled his eyes. "I look like the lost member of the Jonas Brothers." He looked down at The Doctor. "I don't think I can handle this for much longer." And yet, somewhere deep down, he didn't really mean it.

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><p><em>Thanks again for reading, hopefully the wait for the next chapter won't be so long; the story is fully written but (as my stories always do) it needs quite a colossal amount of fixing and, also, my internet connection is being horrid to me lately. I do apologise. :)<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_Eep, sorry I suck at uploading. My internet connection hates me, and I can't upload from my phone (why isn't there an App for that yet?). Also, you'll have to excuse the length of this chapter; I had to split it in two because, otherwise, you'd have all just been bored.  
><em>**  
><strong>_I also just want to say a quick hello to new readers, it's nice to see you in my inbox! And, if any of you have a Tumblr, there's a whole blog dedicated to Molly/Jim (it's called fuckyeahmolliarty) and it's fantastic! We are not alone! Woohoo!_

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><p><strong>4.<strong>

"I can't believe I'm actually going bowling," Molly laughed as they walked, hand-in-hand, into the arcade. "I've never been bowling before—I'm going to be just awful!"  
>"There's no way you'll be worse than me," Jim said, smiling at her. "I can't even do it on the Wii, you're going to break your heart laughing at me in here!"<p>

Jim wasn't lying; he'd never been bowling before. Sometimes, on a particularly boring day, himself and Sebastian would play bowling on the Wii, but Sebastian wouldn't even be gracious enough to let Jim win and Jim was the sorest loser if ever there was one. (One time, Sebastian had beaten Jim so badly that Jim shot him in the foot.)  
>He had to grin and bear it when he was forced to change his shoes. Sure, he was all for different shoes for different occasions but having to wear shoes that God-knows-who had worn before him? Not really his favourite part of the night.<p>

Molly was just as bad as he was, and not just about having to change her shoes. She failed miserably at the game, as did Jim, and most of the time was just spent with the two of them in convulsions over how ridiculously bad they were.

It didn't take long for both parties to realise that their efforts were pointless and they ought to just give up while it was only the two rows beside them that were laughing and not the entire arcade. "One more shot," Jim said, handing her the blue ball. It matched her jeans, and he was a sucker for things that matched. "And then I promise we'll go get pizza." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Make this one count," He said. "For all the times that friend of yours has taken you for granted and hasn't noticed how wonderful you are and hasn't appreciated how beautiful you are."  
>As soon as the words left his mouth, Jim Moriarty began the escapade of trying to convince himself that it was his character who had said them.<br>It was funny, in the end, because that was the one time either of them ever got a spare.  
>Molly jumped around excitedly and Jim enveloped her in a bear hug. "He doesn't know what he's missing, Molly Hooper." Jim mumbled, pulling her closer.<p>

Jim showed off a little bit after that, taking Molly to the most exclusive, not to mention most expensive, place in London city. He knew he shouldn't, really, be flaunting his power like that—after all, he was supposed to be playing a character—but he just couldn't help himself. He wanted to impress Molly, as himself and not as "Jim from IT" and, for the brief few moments that they had together, Sherlock really didn't matter. The Game didn't really matter. Nothing really mattered, except her.

"I haven't had that much fun in a _really_ long time," Molly laughed, as Jim walked her back to her flat that night. "And how you got us a reservation in _Scoozies, _I don't even..."  
>"I may not look like much," Jim grinned. "But I've got friends in high places and they owe me." He winked at her and she giggled.<br>"Well, this is me." She stated almost sadly, as they stopped outside a rather old fashioned looking building. Something told Jim, from just looking at the place and from the area that it was in, that Molly wasn't used to nice things—even though she herself could've been sunshine on a cloudy day, had Jim liked 'The Temptations' and that silly movie. Molly deserved so much more than a little run-down flat and a crush on someone who had probably called her "John" once too many times.  
>"Speaking of those friends," Jim said, before he could stop himself. "I've got one friend who owes me big time and he's got this amazing apartment overlooking the Thames... He never stays there, though, he's too busy with—with work, and apparently I make really nice chicken pie and I was thinking maybe you might like to have dinner with me there because it's beautiful at night, or something, and I'm making a complete idiot of myself right now, shut up Jim..." He sucked in a breath. It was the second time that night that he had to convince himself that it was his character that cared. That really, to him-to proper James Kevin Moriarty-it didn't matter.<br>Except that it did matter.  
>It mattered a lot.<br>Though, for a genius, he couldn't figure out why.  
>"So what do you say?" He asked, hopefully.<br>"A-are you serious?" Molly looked at him, shocked and slightly stunned, her eyes growing increasingly wider as everything he'd said processed with her.  
>"I'm not a very good liar." He told her. "Honestly."<br>"You want to cook _me_ dinner in a fancy apartment?" She looked at him wide-eyed, as though she'd never heard something so incredibly ridiculous in all her life.  
>"Yes." He stated, simply. He looked to her hopefully, against his better instincts. Please say yes, Molly Hooper. Please, <em>please<em> say yes.  
>"What time?" She asked with a smile.<p>

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><p><em>Hoping to have the next chapter up within the week, provided my internet connection decides to love me just a little bit longer. Thanks again for reading! ~Jenny. :)<em>


	5. Chapter 5

****_Apologies for being so slow with the updates; my internet connection likes to mess with my head. Thanks for your lovely reviews, they always make me smile! :)_

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><p><strong>5.<strong>

Jim was nervous. It was driving him crazy too because he'd never had a problem with nerves. The only reason he was even able to identify the fact that he was nervous at all was because he'd felt nervous as a child every time his father took a step too close to his mother. But, he realised, this was a much different kind of nervous.  
>He took a step towards the mirror and shook his head disgustedly. No, not this shirt, either. Why he had even considered this shirt in the first place completely baffled him. Who wants to be seen wearing a white shirt with little blue Forget-Me-Nots and frills all over it? Not him, anyway.<br>He wanted to keep up appearances, of course, but, at the same time, he wanted Molly to see him for who he truly was. For one stupid evening he wanted to strip away his characters, his criminal exterior, his genius. For one stupid evening, for tonight, he just wanted to be James Kevin Moriarty; a man who had fallen for the pretty, anti-ordinary woman from his work. (Or his play, depending on how you looked at it.)  
>He sighed then, deciding on the powder blue shirt—the first shirt he had tried on.<br>"Silly me," He said, turning to face The Doctor, who was panned out on Jim's bed. "Silly, silly me."

It was dark before Jim heard the barely audible knock on his door. If he made deductions like Sherlock did, he'd have said that it was definitely a nervous and apprehensive knock. As he answered, though, his face lit up. For a minute, he had almost thought that she was going to stand him up.  
>"I'm so sorry I'm late," Molly said apologetically. "I got completely lost and I knocked on four wrong doors and I'm a mess and I'm so-"<br>"Molly." Jim laughed.  
>"Sorry." Molly dropped her gaze.<br>"Apologise again, and I'll be forced to have Sebastian assassinate you." He said, placing his hand under her chin and forcing her to look back up at him. He winked and she smiled. They were like Mr. And Mrs. Smith except, of course, that she wasn't a spy. And, he supposed, neither was he. Still, they were something of fiction, he thought, admiring her as he took her coat, and noting that her red dress perfectly complimented everything about her. Her skin tone, her hair, her figure, her lips. Her heart. Probably. He stood back for a moment, just watching her, as she moved. She was stunning.  
>Jim smiled, at the idea of this being their third date. Usually, his idea of a date was meeting someone face-to-face because he was about to put a bullet through their skull. Well, sometimes it was less boring that a plain, old bullet and <em>he<em> wasn't the one to put it through their head but, regardless, this wasn't the type of "date" he was normally used to. Not one where he wasn't playing a character, anyway.  
>-<em>Oops<em>.  
>"Jim from IT." He heard himself mutter before turning to face Molly, who was staring around the apartment in awe. Jim had never been inside Molly's flat, but he'd been outside it enough times to know that it <em>definitely<em> didn't look anything like this. And, before you go jumping to conclusions, no, he wasn't _spying_, he was just keeping a watchful eye on the situation in case Sebastian got jealous of Molly or that Greg Lestrade guy showed up again. '_Working on a case_' his ass. Since when does "working on a case" involve a house-call from a solitary member of Scotland Yard at ten-thirty p.m.? Since never; that's when. '_Not even the police force tell the truth anymore.'_ Jim thought. _'Nothing's ever innocent, is it_?"  
>Except, maybe, Molly. But that was just another thing to add to the list of anti-ordinary things about Molly Anne Hooper. And yes, <em>of course<em>, Jim had a list.  
>Molly walked tentatively, and in awe, through the magnificent apartment. It really was something spectacular, like the kind of ones that you'd see in those films that starred the intelligent, beautiful girl with the obscure but extremely well paid job. The kind of films Molly turned her nose up at but, secretly, wished her life would play out like. Jim remained standing back, keeping his eyes on her for an even longer moment, and taking in her sheer amazement at his semi-permanent home. Of course, she didn't <em>know<em> it was his home but, still. It was nice to see someone actually appreciating the aesthetics of a place without wanting to have someone "offed" for the privilege of using it. As he placed her coat on one of the lavish crystal hangers by the door, his peripheral vision caught sight of something fiery. And Molly, of course, not knowing about the cat's evil tendencies, turned to say hi. "No, don't," Jim started quickly, knowing that he was the only human The Doctor could and would tolerate and that was only because Jim fed the thing caviar as a snack and made sure it slept on Egyptian cotton, and that it would probably take great joy in ripping Molly's mouse-like face into itty-bitty pieces. "He's-" He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as The Doctor curled himself around Molly's legs, lapping up her attention as she stroked his fur and Jim could hear his purring from there all the way to where he was standing. _Incredible_, he thought, shaking his head. _Absolutely incredible_.  
>"I've got a cat at home," Molly said, turning to Jim and smiling, but not before picking The Doctor up into her arms. "His name is Toby. He can probably smell him off me."<br>"Usually, that makes him worse." Jim raised his eyebrows in disbelief, and shoved his hands in his pockets, moving suavely towards his best friend and his date.  
>Molly giggled. Usually, Jim hated that. But, he'd noticed, "usually" was "unusual" with Molly and "usually" was something Molly did unusually well.<br>"The view is amazing," Molly said, tickling the cat's belly, who had turned over in her arms, as she walked towards the giant floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked the Thames.  
>"Yeah..." Jim sort-of agreed. Frankly, he was sick of the view. In fact, he had never really cared for it to begin with; he just had it because he could.<br>"I could look at it forever." She almost-whispered, just staring out to the great beyond and, for once, Jim didn't know what she was thinking. That was something that never happened. Jim Moriarty read people like books. It was endearing not to know, but at the same time...  
>"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked, and she blushed.<br>"You'll laugh." She told him, stroking the cat who had fallen asleep in her arms.  
>"If I do, I'll give you my last Rolo." Jim promised, making Molly giggle, and The Doctor purred. Usually, any form of laughter irritated the cat.<br>"I was just thinking about how easy it'd be to lose yourself." She stared out over the city again and Jim's brow furrowed involuntarily. "How easy it would be to forget who you are, or what you've done. Looking at how perfect everything is from up here, it'd be easy to just forget everything that is and was." She turned to look at him. "And then I was thinking that I wouldn't want to forget you." She sucked in a breath, as if she was about to reveal to him the world's best kept secret. But, of course, he already knew the world's best kept secret. And it wasn't half as interesting as Molly Hooper. "I'd be lying if I said that I've enjoyed my life so far," She told him, sadly. "I've always only ever been anyone's second choice. I became a mortician because I was _used_ to being lonely. I was never the person anyone cared about, I was the kind of person people would tell secrets to because they didn't even realise I was there in the first place." She gave him a lopsided smile. "But, somewhere along the way, I must've done something right because, all of a sudden, you stepped into my life and now I look in the mirror and I don't see someone worthless. I see someone worth being." She grinned, then. "So, do I get that Rolo, or what?"  
>"Molly," Jim breathed. "I..." He fell silent for a moment, and Molly turned to look back out of the window. "I haven't been..." This time, it was his turn to suck in a breath. "I haven't been totally honest with you..."<br>She turned back to look at him, arching an eyebrow. "Oh?" She enquired and he bit his lip.  
>"I'm not—"<br>But he was interrupted by the sound of something crashing to the floor.  
>"What the hell was—" Molly whipped around, to face where the noise had come from.<br>"It, um," Jim put his hand out in front of her, shaking his head. He couldn't believe what he had just been about to do and he wasn't sure whether to thank or kill Sebastian Moran. "It's probably the other cat."  
>"You have another cat?" Molly's brow furrowed.<br>"Yeah," He moved away, walking towards the kitchen door. "Apparently I do." He mumbled, pushing the swing-door backwards with, probably a little too much, force. "I'll be right back," He called to Molly. "Do you want a drink?"  
>"Yeah, sure." Molly called back.<br>"Coming right up!" Jim shouted and then turned to face the perpetrator with villainous eyes. "Whatever happened to 'shutting the fuck up'!" He demanded, his voice an angry whisper.  
>"I am an <em>assassin," <em>The man whispered back, flaking a dirty tea towel onto the overly ostentatious island counter-top._ "_Not Betty motherfucking Crocker."  
>"Watch it!" Jim snatched the towel. "That," He eyed the man. "Is mahogany."<br>"And what about you, you stupid Irish twat?" Sebastian grabbed the tea towel and shoved it over his shoulder. "You were about to spill everything to that _girl_ in there."  
>"I can tell Molly if I want to." Jim huffed. "Also," He said menacingly, taking a step towards Sebastian. "Call me an 'Irish twat' <em>one more time<em> and I will _kill_ you."  
>"Threaten me one more time and <em>I'll<em> kill _you_." Sebastian said, eyeing Jim. There was a momentary pause, the two men staring each other down, before Jim grinned widely.  
>"Love you." He said in a sing-song voice and Sebastian shook his head.<br>"I know you do. Now get the fuck out of my kitchen, I'm trying to prepare a masterpiece."

Molly arched an eyebrow at the cat, trying to bite back a smile. "He's got Sebastian in there cooking for us, hasn't he?" She asked, and The Doctor meowed in agreement. She let the smile spread across her face and shook her head lightly. "I thought so." She said, smirking.  
>And, just like that, Molly knew that this would be one of the most interesting nights she'd ever had.<br>She just didn't know _how_ interesting.

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><p><em>I'm such a sucker for Molliarty, it's beginning to get out of hand. Hope this lame attempt at an update didn't bore you too much. Thanks for reading! ~Jenny<em>


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